Maybe there is no such thing as a self and each of us is a composite of elements from the vast ocean of emptiness. In this scenario, there would be no such thing as “other people or other things”. There would be no subject/object, just naked awareness.
Serenity and suffering and sunlight and starlight and water and wind and ballads and books and roads and ruts and dogs and people and turtles and fish and dirt and soap and houses and rain and music and ruins and reasons and diamonds and pistols and orchids and rocks and pillows and you and me and all the billions of things that make up our lives might just be one ever changing process. You are me and I am you and all the ugliness and splendor of the universe is nothing other than the cup of coffee in your hand.
The smell of roses may be how you smell.
